


Order, Purpose, Direction

by Casey_Wolfe



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boston Massacre AU, Community: asscreedkinkmeme, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff (minor), Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Minor Violence, Tumblr: conhaythsecretsanta2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 10:09:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3116189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casey_Wolfe/pseuds/Casey_Wolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor never made it out of Boston after the massacre.  His father had caught up to him and the Templar Grand Master wasn't about to let his son slip away from him.  Their bond could change the outcome of everything we know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Order, Purpose, Direction

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I ended up as a last minute pinch hitter for the [ConHayth Secret Santa](http://conhaythsecretsanta2014.tumblr.com/).  This isn’t any of the prompts the requester asked for- sorry?- but since most were for the DLC, which I haven’t played, I was trying desperately to come up with something with like four days to write and edit.  So with the blessing of the prompter to literally do anything I wanted- *evil laugh* their mistake- I ended up going with this as it was something I’d been turning over in my head ever since posting a prompt for it on the [Assassin's Creed Kink Meme](http://asscreedkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/).  So it ended up being a self-fill thing as well.  *bangs head off wall*  I don’t know how I do these things to myself.

The would-be gunman was dying in his grasp but it appeared Connor hadn’t been successful in stopping what was to come.  Looking across at another rooftop he found Charles Lee, pistol in hand.  There was nothing he could do but watch as violence erupted the moment the senior Templar fired his weapon.

The massacre of the unarmed citizens turned Connor’s stomach, forced to watch as the Redcoats opened fire on the protesting crowd.  A growl of rage built up in Connor’s throat, choking off when he caught sight of his father among the British soldiers.  The man was getting the attention of one of the officers, pointing up to where he stood on the roof.  It was _him_ that Haytham was blaming.

Connor took a couple steps back, his gut clenching in a way that hadn’t happened since his village was attacked.  That day had been the fault of Charles Lee as well.  Although all thoughts of vengeance were swept aside as Redcoats left the square to head his way.

Haytham appeared rather smug as he gazed up at him, obviously being delighted that he’d been presented with such an easy scapegoat and that he’d thought ahead to ensure a backup plan in the form of his second-in-command.  It was that look most likely which had Connor spouting off without thought, “Thanks Father!”

The expression on Haytham’s face would have been amusing if the situation was different.  As it was, Connor turned and fled across the rooftops and into the night.

* * *

Haytham had furrowed his brow, looking up to the rooftop opposite of where the shot was supposed to be coming from.  He found Charles in his position although the man’s attention was across the way, nodding before disappearing from sight.

Following Lee's gaze, Haytham found a young native boy was perched on the roof where his gunman should have been.  Clearly he’d not been wrong to send Charles as a secondary but who was this intruder?  Surely it couldn’t have been…

Haytham looked around, ignoring the bloodshed he had orchestrated.  He wasn’t proud of it but it was something that needed to be done.  He caught sight of a familiar figure slipping down an alley away from the fighting.   _Assassins!_

He had thought Achilles had learned the Brotherhood was truly dead in the New World but apparently he had gone recruiting without anyone in the Order catching wise to it.  Not stopping to ponder all the details given the current situation, he instead turned the Redcoats’ attentions to Achilles’ latest protege.

Of course he had not been expecting the boy’s outcry.   _Father?!_ Haytham knew he was staring then, snapped out of it only when the native ran for it.  He didn’t stick around to see the reactions of anyone else, setting off after the assassin himself.

As he ran, Haytham’s thoughts couldn’t help but stray to Ziio.  It had been _years_ , long enough that perhaps…  No!  There was no way he was a father.  Surely Ziio would have notified him.  Still, hadn’t the boy seemed on the fair side, his features different from the natives he’d come to know?  He shook the idea from his head- it had been too dark and far to see such details!- and instead focused on finding the young assassin that would claim such nonsense.

* * *

All his training had appeared to pay off.  Connor was able to slip away from his pursuers, disappearing into the night.  The only problem then was how to locate Achilles.  He figured his best option was to make his way out of Boston and wait near the entrance to the frontier in hopes his mentor would show.

However as he traveled from one shadow to the next, he couldn’t help but get a sense that someone was following him.  No matter how often he looked he saw nothing, but it was clear that eyes were upon him.  It only made him quicken his pace towards the Southern District.

Not that it helped, a figure swooping down upon him and pulling him into the darkness of a corner.  A hand was on his mouth, a solid body pinning him against the wall.  His futile struggles ceased as soon as the man shushed him with a sense of urgency.  Connor’s eyes followed a pair of Redcoats that appeared moments later from around the building. They would have surely spotted him had this person not intervened.

Naturally he would have never suspected said man to be his father, but when his savior released him that was exactly who stood in front of him.  Arms caged him protectively as Haytham’s hands rested on the building at his back.  He looked down at him thoughtfully, hazel eyes scrutinizing his every detail- although Connor found himself doing the same.

The painting Achilles had shown him didn’t do the man before him justice.  His father was tall and well-built with a strong jaw and eagle-sharp eyes.  His hair was greyed but it looked flattering, pulled neatly back at the base of his neck by a red ribbon.

Haytham had apparently been doing his own assessments, gazing down at him in disbelief as he said, “There’s no denying you look just like her.”  There was a pause before he asked, seemingly to himself, “Why wouldn’t Ziio tell me she was pregnant?”

Connor’s eyes widened a bit at that, his jaw going slack.  His mother had told him long ago that his father didn’t know about him.  He had honestly thought that it was simply an excuse she made up, one to soften the blow of them being abandoned.  “You really didn’t know?” Connor found himself asking without thought.

“Of course not!  I would have been here!”  Haytham took a deep breath, his heart aching as he looked down at the boy caged to the wall.  Realizing the position they were in he straightened, not meaning to intimidate him.  “You must be… thirteen or so now?”

“I’ll be fourteen in a month’s time,” the boy confirmed- _his son_ , his son confirmed.

Realizing the most obvious question he’d yet to ask, he inquired, “What’s your name?”

“Ratonhnhake:ton.”

Haytham blinked.  After a moment a slight smile pulled at his mouth.  He was reminded on his first meeting with Ziio, the way he had butchered her name.  He wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice and decided to ask, “Did Ziio give you an English name as well?” The boy shook his head, the single braid and his bangs falling into his dark eyes.  Huffing, he asked dryly, “Well what does Davenport call you?”

“How do you know about Achilles?”  Apparently deciding it didn’t matter, his son shook his head once more and replied, “Connor.”

“He named you after his dead son?”  Connor seemed surprised to learn such a thing and once the origins of the name sank in, Haytham became angry.  Growling in frustration he turned away and paced a few steps, speaking mostly to himself.  “How _dare_ he?  First the bastard keeps my own son from me, and then he has the _nerve_ to give him his dead child’s name?”  Was it supposed to be some messed up way of claiming Connor as his own?  Of taunting Haytham with the fact he had his boy, had made him an assassin?

He growled again but it died on his lips when he spun back around and saw his son watching him.  Swallowing back his rage- and wounded pride- he tempered his frustration.  There were more important things to worry about at the moment- the boy in front of him for one.  “Well,” he continued with a sigh.  “Connor it is then I suppose…  At least until I can pronounce that name of yours properly.”

A large grin crossed Connor’s face then.  He attempted to school his features quickly but it didn’t work and so the boy gave up.  Haytham couldn’t really blame him.  He too tried to hide his own happiness over the surprising situation they found themselves in and failed to do so.

Looking around, Haytham became serious, well aware of their current predicament.  “We need to get you off of the streets.  I have a home here in Boston.  You’ll be safe there.”

Connor frowned, a crease between his brows.  “I don’t know…”  He inched along the wall, hand feeling as he went until he found the corner.  He could slip around it and take off if he needed to.  “I don’t think…”  He was supposed to be an Assassin, sworn enemy of the Templars- that included his own father.  Granted he hadn’t been given the robes and made a full member of the Brotherhood, but that was his intentions when he begged Achilles to train him.

He never said any of this out loud however his father seemed to be able to read his thoughts. Haytham's face softened briefly, offering reassurance.  “It will be alright Connor.  I promise you.”  Connor nodded slowly, finding he believed him too.  “We’ll get you home and then we can talk, get everything straightened out, yes?”  Again Connor nodded, feeling oddly at ease.  “Good.”

Offering him another smile, Haytham removed his hat, dropping it onto his head.  He then pulled the young boy against his side.  “Stay close,” Haytham said.

“Yeah, okay.”  Connor was hesitant and Haytham didn’t believe it was of him.  The way the boy twitched when he tried to give him a reassuring squeeze spoke of an invasion of personal boundaries.  Catching onto that, he released him, figuring he would simply have to keep a close watch on him.

Connor blinked in surprise, looking up at him.  Wearing his over-sized hat, Haytham felt the involuntary tug on his lips as he took in the sight.  There was no denying that this was his son.  The shape of the boy’s face was like looking into a mirror, while the color of his skin and his deep reflective eyes reminded him of Ziio.  “Come on,” Haytham urged, setting them on the least congested route towards his home.

To Connor’s utter amazement, they slipped easily through the streets without barely a second glance.  It seemed just the simple addition of Haytham’s hat for cover and Haytham’s own presence was enough to distract suspicion.  Then again, it probably helped that his father would occasionally pull him closer, though he was careful in his contact.

When they reached the house Haytham owned, Connor gazed up at the large house in wonder.  The lamps were on inside, making the home glow in an inviting warmth.  He looked up at Haytham then, finding his father was watching him instead.

“Welcome home Connor.”

* * *

The bed he laid in was comfortable, more plush than anything to be found at the Homestead.  Light was coloring the sky, signaling dawn approaching, yet he’d just crawled into bed.  He and his father had stayed up speaking by the fireplace, only stopping when he yawned rather loudly and Haytham realized the time.

“ _Don’t worry about waking up early,”_ _Haytham implored from the doorway of the guest bedroom.  “Just get some rest.”_

_Connor nodded and murmured, “Goodnight Father,” before he could stop himself, watching the warm smile cross Haytham’s face._

“ _Goodnight son,” he replied before shutting the door softly and heading to his own room across the hall._

They hadn’t spoken of much outside of how how Haytham and Ziio met and that she was now deceased.  Haytham had become sullen at the news, his feelings for her clear.  When Connor had venomously tried to explain how the Templars were to blame, Haytham held up his hand.  “ _Tonight we will not speak of the Order or the Brotherhood.  Tonight is just for us, as father and son.”_

Despite the pain forming in Connor’s chest over the memories of his mother, the words of his father tugged at his heart.  So he had humored the man, listening to stories he had of Ziio and adventures out at sea or in battle.  At Haytham's insistence, Connor returned the favor and told him about growing up in the village and shared some of their stories they had passed down.

Laying there in bed, Connor was uncertain of what the future could hold for him.  He wasn’t even sure of any possible relationship he could have with Haytham.  However he found himself hopeful, and he was content enough to fall asleep.

* * *

A few days passed without incident.  Connor hadn’t left and Haytham certainly hadn’t told him to do so.  To that end, Connor had shadowed his father around the house, allowing him to attend to the work he needed to and filling Haytham’s free time with talk.  Well, to be honest it was mostly Haytham that spoke, Connor content to listen.

On the third afternoon Connor was taken to the basement to find a training area complete with mats and practice dummies much like the hidden room at the Homestead.  It was there that Haytham tested Connor's skills with his tomahawk and bow that he had come to Boston with.  He even showed his son a few techniques and spared with him- Connor couldn't get enough of it.

Then to Connor's utter surprise, Haytham pulled out a hidden blade weapon from an old trunk in the corner, offering it to him as a gift.  Connor had been waiting for the day to wear his own hidden blade, the weapon of an assassin that Achilles refused to give him until he’d earned his robes.  Yet here Haytham was, giving it to him as if he was more than worthy.

“This was my first hidden blade,” Haytham informed him, wrapping the bracer around Connor’s left wrist.  As his father adjusted the leather straps so it fit snuggling, Connor gazed at the simple contraption with a sense of awe, a knot forming in his throat that refused to let him speak.

Once it was set, Haytham showed him the proper way to deploy it, smiling when Connor bent his wrist back and the blade sprang out with ease.  Looking up at his father, Connor couldn’t help but smile, seeing the expression of fondness on Haytham’s face.  He found his voice enough to murmur his thanks but given Haytham’s warm smile, he understood the rest.

He ruffled Connor’s hair, pulling him in for a brief hug once the blade was returned to its sheath.  For then, Connor was content to have the contact, face nuzzling into his father’s chest and inhaling his scent.  He didn’t think he stopped smiling for hours.

And if Haytham noticed how Connor kept flicking the blade in and out every so often, testing it, then he didn’t say a word.

* * *

Connor rather enjoyed being around his father and found he was happy to have found him.  He couldn’t help but think Achilles was very wrong about him.  However Connor knew he wasn’t wrong about the other Templars- particularly the group that showed up at the door the next day.

Five men were welcomed inside the parlor and the moment Connor’s eyes settled on Charles Lee he screamed his name as he made a mad dash for him.  His father was even quicker however, his arms wrapping around Connor’s waist and chest.  No one thought to move and Charles let out a shaky breath when Connor was halted just where the tip of his hidden blade sat against the Templar’s throat.

Snarling like a beast, Connor attempted to thrash in his father’s hold and get _just that little bit_ further to sink the blade into flesh.  “Let me go!” he demanded, kicking back fiercely when Haytham yanked him away to allow Charles escape.  “He burned my village and killed my mother!  I will see him _dead!_ ”

“Connor,” he implored, pulling him further away from the perplexed Templars.  “Calm yourself.  Charles did no such thing.  You’re mistaken.”

“It was him!” Connor insisted.  He hadn’t brought the topic back up again, unsure what trouble it would cause for their fragile relationship.  With Lee right in front of him however, he wasn’t going to just let it go.  “I saw him in the forest that day.  All of them!”

Haytham froze when he implicated the lot of them.  It was one thing to mistake _one_ man’s identity, but another to remember a specific group.  “Be still Connor,” he implored more gently, patting his chest when he did so.  He could feel the boy still vibrating with energy but at least he wasn’t growling and snapping like a beast any longer.  “Now just stay put while we figure this out.”

“Who is this boy Master Kenway?” Lee demanded, straightening his collar as he gazed at the half-breed in disdain.

“This is my son.”  Haytham’s words were firm, a hand resting on Connor’s shoulder as his gaze hardened on them.  It was an order as much as an introduction, a warning that none of them should step out of line.

“Son?”  Charles looked aghast.

Before he could continue, Haytham cut him off.  “Did any of you have anything to do with the burning of a Mohawk village?”

“What?” Johnson scoffed.  “No sir.”

“You were there,” Connor spat, knowing the man as the one who had knocked him unconscious.

Haytham lowered his brows, looking down at his son.  “Are you sure they are the men you saw?  You must be certain Connor.”

He snorted, ignoring the small chastising of manners from his father, before looking at them each in turn.  There was no doubt about Lee and the other who spoke, and he recognized two more as the others to round out the group.  “That one,” he said, pointing to the one on the end, “was not.  But the others were all there.”

Haytham grew even more suspicious then, his son having pointed out Pitcairn who was often not even _in_ Boston but out with the armies to oversee Templar interests carried out.  It only added to the validity of Connor’s words.  “Charles, what say you?”  He stared hard at the other man, a warning that he would have only one chance to tell the truth.

“We’ve done no such thing,” he answered with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Connor clenched his teeth, snarling as he tried to step forward, the fingers digging into his shoulder the only thing stopping him.  “Liar,” he hissed instead.

“It’s true,” Church insisted.  “We’ve never burned a village.  You have our word on that.”

“It’s as he says Master Kenway,” Charles continued.

Connor lunged again, his arm being snagged.  It did not stop him from throwing barbed words at Lee all the same.  “Just as you did not try to strangle me that day when I refused to tell you where the village was!?  That I was struck in the head and woke to find it burning?!”

“Can’t be…” Johnson murmured, gazing thoughtfully at Connor.  All the while though, Charles remained smug.

“I asked your name,” Connor reminded, his voice low and dark.

Haytham went dangerously still and Connor felt it through the hold at his arm.  It caused him to stop his fight, turning to look at his father.  His face was cold stone, obviously finding that Connor was indeed telling the truth.

It was like an explosion. Haytham had hold of Charles by the front of his jacket, slamming him into the wall.  “How _DARE YOU_ touch my son?!”

Eyes wide in fear, Charles shook his head, hands covering Haytham’s.  “I had no idea he was your son.  How could I have?  I was only doing as you commanded.”

“I told you to stay away from the natives!” he barked, slamming him into the wall for emphasis.

“Oye,” Hickey spoke up, his heavy accent chopping up his words, “‘e told us thems was yer orders.  Di’n’t ‘e lads?”

“He did indeed,” Johnson agreed dryly with a scowl turned on Charles.  “‘Whatever it takes’ as I recall.”

Haytham snarled, shoving Charles violently away before turning his back and holding his head.  He couldn’t believe that Charles of all people- his hand picked second- would defy his orders like that.  And to go so far as to drag the other Colonial Templars into it…?

“But we ne’er burned no village,” Hickey continued.

“Called it a day,” Church agreed.  “Returned to Boston.”

Haytham sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.  He knew his other men weren’t lying- he could hear it in their words and saw the logical pieces fitting together.  Charles had done this on his own whim.  To say that he was disappointed was putting it mildly.

“Did you see anyone else in the area as you left?” Haytham inquired, back still to them.  As he figured, none of them could point to another perpetrator for the fires that day.

He looked up with a sigh, eyes locking onto Connor’s.  He saw the anger seeping into every pore of his son’s body and he did not blame him.  Haytham made his decision, in the end finding it rather easy.

“Do as you please,” Haytham said, not even hesitating as he moved aside.

He wasn’t surprised when Connor immediately crossed the space.  It was too bad for Charles that he wasn’t nearly as fast as the nimble assassin, not having a chance to dodge out of the way.  The hidden blade deployed just as before, this time finding its target and sinking into the soft flesh of Lee’s throat.

For a few long, tense moments, no one moved, the only noise Charles’ gurgles of surprise.  Connor grunted, ripping the blade across the Templar’s neck as he withdrew it, blood flinging away when his arm swung out.  The young man watched impassively as Charles sank to the floor, grasping futilely at his neck.

As he laid there dying, none of the other Templars made a move towards him, nor offered any sort of comment- save a scoff from Hickey.  The one to move first was Haytham, being sure to make noise as he walked up behind his son.  He laid a hand firmly down on his one shoulder, feeling the slight tremble of Connor’s muscles.

“Easy Connor,” he soothed, waiting until the boy relaxed a bit and leaned back against him before continuing.  “I’m proud of you.”  He dropped a kiss down on Connor’s head, smiling softly as his head tilted back to gaze at him.  After a moment Connor smiled softly in return, turning in his father’s embrace and resting his head into his chest.

Haytham simply continued to hold him, thankful to every deity in existence for the opportunity he now had. He had a second chance at being a father to Connor, and he wasn’t about to waste it. Having his son beside him, Haytham felt like he could take on the world.

* * *

_Six Years Later…_

Connor sat on a rooftop overlooking the square.  Despite it being midday he wasn’t worried about anyone seeing him.  People rarely paid attention to what was above them, having no idea a predator was hovering so close by.

He felt a presence behind him but didn’t even bother to turn around.  He knew it to be his father before the man even sat down beside him.  “How goes it Ratonhnhake:ton?”

Connor smirked at the way his native name rolled off his father’s tongue with ease.  It hadn’t started that way but slowly Haytham had gotten the hang of it.  He still called him Connor most of the time but when it was just the two of them he would often use the name his mother had given to him. Haytham claimed to prefer it- even if it _was_ a mouthful.

“Nothing to really note I’m afraid.”  His careful watch over the market area wasn’t wielding much fruit in the way of intelligence gathering.  In truth though he wasn’t very worried about it.  It was a long shot and he’d only offered to do it as a way to get some fresh air.  They hadn’t had much action as of late, despite the political blow up between England and the Colonies that had started a war.

“To be expected,” Haytham agreed, sighing a bit.  He was frustrated as well, although it was only Connor he allowed to know it.  As the Grand Master of the Order, Haytham needed to be nothing save the capable leader.  Any doubts, fears, or frustrations were kept private.

This certainly wasn’t what Connor had expected to be doing with his life.  He had thought to be an Assassin by now, taking his revenge against Lee and the Templars who had caused the death of his mother.  Granted he had still taken Charles’ life but they’d yet to decipher who the true culprits for the attack had been.  “ _We’ll find them Connor,”_ Haytham had assured, and he believed him because he could see the want for vengeance in his father’s eyes as well.

Rather than working to tear apart the Order however, Connor found himself switching sides.  He realized that Achilles had been brainwashing him all along.  The Templar ideology was not so different to the Brotherhood’s own, they simply went about everything differently.  They were not the enemy- in fact there was much they could accomplish should they just work together.

“ _What is it the Templars truly seek?” Connor inquired.  He and his father were standing on a rooftop overlooking the harbor.  They had been out on a mission, Haytham seeing it as a great opportunity to teach Connor more of who they were._

“ _Order.  Purpose.  Direction,” Haytham answered simply.  “No more than that.”  They hadn’t talked much on politics or the ongoing struggle between the Templars and Assassins in the near two months Connor had been living with him.  Slowly though he was starting to learn, to hear Haytham’s side of things and decide for himself what he believed._

In the end Connor had chosen his father.  He hadn’t necessarily chosen the Order- though he supposed by association he had- but he’d chosen Haytham.

The Grand Master gazed at him now, affection in his eyes.  “You and that hair of yours,” he teased gently, shaking his head as he reached out to tuck the loose strands behind his ear.  “What have I told you about wearing it back when you go out?  You’ll draw less attention and-”

“And it won’t get in my eyes should I find myself in a fight,” Connor finished, lips quirking.  “Yes Father, I know.”

“Yet you certainly do not follow instructions well.”

“As though you do,” Connor was quick to point out.

Haytham chuckled, having no defense for that other than, “I am far older than you boy.  I am allowed to do as I please.”

“Old indeed,” was the quip in return.

Haytham swatted at his son’s shoulder, not helping but to smile as he laughed lightly.  “There are no doubts you are my son with a mouth like that.”

“Yes,” Connor agreed with a nod, looking thoughtfully out towards the harbor, “I believe ‘sass’ is a Kenway trait.”  Haytham snorted at that but he wouldn’t deny it.

They sat in comfortable silence for a time until Haytham stood, offering a hand to his son.  Connor allowed the boost, standing eye to eye with his father when he got upright.  He’d grown quite a bit from their first meeting, and filled out with muscle as well.  Haytham’s lips turned into a smirk as he met dark brown eyes.  “Let us go find some action, yes?”

“Right beside you Father,” Connor assured.

/End

**Author's Note:**

> My intent was to make this longer and add slash, but that obviously didn't happen. Perhaps I'll get to it one of these days... Until then, hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](http://thedenofcaseywolfe.tumblr.com/).


End file.
